


I'll make the world safe and sound for you

by elizaham8957



Series: Tumblr prompts [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluff, Future, Sorry Not Sorry, Stiles and Lydia just want to sleep, married stydia, these kids deserve a break, this is arguably the fluffiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: All Lydia wants to do is sleep. She's been a good person. She's put up with banshee powers and battled supernatural creatures and god knows what else. Is it so much to ask for one solid, uninterrupted night of rest for both her and Stiles?Apparently so. Although, she guesses, they did sort of do this to themselves.





	I'll make the world safe and sound for you

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's bad at summaries? I AM
> 
> Anyways, this was another Tumblr prompt-- this one was "things you said at one a.m." If you would like to submit one, I'm still taking them [here!](https://stilesssolo.tumblr.com/post/163841197274/send-me-a-pairing-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope this doesn't completely rot your teeth with how fluffy it is

Lydia’s beginning to think she’s never going to sleep again.

“Ughh,” she groans, rolling over in bed. She swears that she _just_ fell asleep again, and already—

“Stiles,” she mumbles, halfheartedly groping for him next to her, trying to wake him up. He whines in his sleep, turning away from her hand and avoiding facing her.

 _“Stiles,”_ she says again, more insistent this time, locating her husband’s shoulder and shaking it. “Wake up.”

“Whaa?” he mumbles, turning back towards her, his eyebrows knit together. His eyes still aren’t open, and Lydia would feel almost bad for waking him up if she wasn’t so exhausted.

“She’s up again,” Lydia sighs, hand still on Stiles’s shoulder. He groans even louder, burying his head in his pillow.

“What time is it?” he asks, his voice muffled from the pillow. Blearily, Lydia glances at the clock.

“One a.m,” she tells him.

“Didn’t— we just put her back down two hours ago,” Stiles complains.

 _“I_ just put her back down,” Lydia corrects. Stiles groans again, and Lydia almost laughs.

“No, Lydia,” he whines. “Please, come on.”

“It’s definitely your turn,” she counters. “And I have work in the morning.”

“So do I,” Stiles grumbled.

“I have to teach grad students,” Lydia argues, wrapping her arms around him and burying her nose in his shoulder. God, she’s so tired. All she really wants to do is stay here in their bed, snuggled up with Stiles.

“I have to _fight crime.”_

“Well, right now you have to go calm down your daughter.”

Stiles groans, snuggling further into Lydia. His hands trace up her back, playing with the edge of his old t-shirt that she had _long_ ago claimed as her own.

“Will she ever sleep through the night?” Stiles mumbles into her hair, tugging her closer into his chest.

“I hope so,” Lydia murmurs back. “Otherwise I’m going to start using my office hours to nap.”

“You’re not doing that already?” he asks, his eyes still closed. “I’ve been using my lunch break to power nap behind my desk.”

They just lay there for a minute, arms wrapped around each other, praying that somehow their six-month-old daughter will calm herself down and go back to sleep without them having to get up. But her little wails stay constant, much louder and more persistent than Lydia ever thought an infant would be able to manage.

“She is _definitely_ a baby banshee,” Stiles mumbles, nosing at Lydia’s neck. She nods into his chest, pressing her feet against his calves.

“Sorry,” she says, but her words are unapologetic— she knows Stiles is just kidding. Their daughter may be a banshee, but supernatural disasters seem to be far and few between nowadays— it’s likely their daughter will never have to use her powers like Lydia did. And if she ever does need to wield them, her mom will be there to help her through.

“God, how has Scott done this _twice?”_ Stiles wonders out loud.

“Soon to be three,” Lydia reminds him. Stiles sighs, nodding.

“Seriously. Is he insane? Does being a werewolf give you supernatural abilities to never need sleep? Because if so, I think I’m going to need him to bite me.”

“You are _not_ turning into a werewolf,” Lydia insists, opening one eye to squint at her husband. Not that it does much good, because both his eyes are closed. He must sense her gaze, though, because he opens his eyes, peering back at her blearily.

“Okay, I’ll go,” Stiles finally says, and Lydia grins at him, giving him that sweet smile that she _knows_ makes him forgive everything she’s ever done. He kisses her nose, pulling her in closer once more before untangling their limbs, reluctantly pulling the blankets off himself. “Let it be noted that I am the best husband in the world, and you are totally getting her next time.”

“I fail to see what qualifies you for “best husband in the world” in this situation, regardless of the fact that you are,” Lydia tells him, wrapping herself in the sudden excess of blankets, “seeing as it is _your turn_ to get her.”

“Minor details,” Stiles grumbles, shuffling out of their bedroom and down the hall to the nursery.

A minute later, the sharp wails quiet into more manageable whimpers, and as comfortable as she is, and as much as she wants to go back to sleep right now, she can picture Stiles rocking their daughter, and she just— wants to be with her family. So she throws back the covers, slipping out of bed and following Stiles down the hall to the nursery.

She lurks in the doorway silently for a moment, just taking in the sight in front of her. Stiles’s hair is sticking up to one side, his chin is rough with stubble, but he looks completely in his element as he bounces gently in the middle of the room, their baby daughter cradled up against his chest. His hand spans her entire back, curling around the sides of her tiny body easily, holding her close to him, and the moonlight from the window glints off of his wedding band.

“C’mon, Fel, it’s okay,” Stiles says, voice low and soothing and still half-exhausted sounding. “It’s alright, sweetie; just go back to sleep.”

Felicity’s cries slowly subside as she is lulled back to sleep by her father’s rocking and the soothing sound of his voice. He turns and meets Lydia’s eyes triumphantly when she finally goes silent, sleeping against Stiles’s chest again.

Lydia shakes her head at him slightly, in a movement he has learned to interpret as “don’t celebrate until she’s back in her crib.” They’ve always gotten each other so well, understood each other even when they weren’t saying anything, and that has come in more than handy while trying to lure their daughter back to sleep every night for the past six months.

Ever so gently, Stiles lowers Felicity back into her crib, neither he nor Lydia making a sound. She doesn’t make a peep, continuing to sleep as her father withdraws his hands, stepping away slightly. Once he makes it back to the middle of the nursery, without a sound from Felicity, that’s when he celebrates, pumping his fist silently and grinning at Lydia with a smile brighter than sunlight.

 _God,_ she loves him so much.

Lydia smiles back at him, moving into the nursery and wrapping her arms around his torso. She buries her head in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, and Stiles winds his arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“You didn’t have to get up,” he tells her softly, nudging at her hair with his nose. She nods into his chest, looking up to meet his eyes. His are soft and light in the moonlight, and even though he’s exhausted and sleep-deprived, he can’t mask the unbridled joy and love in his expression.

“I know,” Lydia tells him. “But I just like seeing you with her.”

“I know she’s determined to make sure we never sleep again, and she has the lung capacity of twenty banshees put together, but…” He pauses, kissing the crown of Lydia’s head and tightening his arms around her. “She’s pretty incredible, isn’t she?”

Lydia just revels in the feel of being in Stiles’s arms, basks in the warmth of his embrace, and her eyes drift over to the crib where their sleeping daughter lies. Their _daughter._ Lydia spent half her teenage years thinking she’d never make it to the point of _college_ alive, let alone that she would someday be able to have a family all hers.

“Ask me again when I’ve gotten a full night of sleep,” Lydia jokes, but her eyes are still on the crib. She used to think it was impossible to love someone as strongly as she loves Stiles, but after Felicity was born— Lydia’s never been so wholeheartedly attached to someone as she is to her daughter. She knows that she would do anything for the people in this room. For her _family._

“She is pretty incredible,” Lydia agrees, sighing into Stiles’s soft t-shirt, and he hugs her tighter, keeping her safe in his arms.


End file.
